


A Blue Sky

by VeronaSage



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Dunkirk, Established Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 23:55:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11908881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeronaSage/pseuds/VeronaSage
Summary: A collection of moments.There are certain experiences in life you just can't come back from.





	1. Chapter 1

_Before_

 

Farrier's hand comes to rest upon the nape of his neck. The gentle touch radiating all the weighted words that want to be said, have yet to be said, but is understood.

 

Collins clenches his eyes shut willing himself to swallow the nauseating fear of what the mission might hold and instead concentrates on learning the feel of Farrier's hand. 

 

He learns it. 

 

He learns it. 

 

He learns it.

 

Praying to whatever God was left out there to allow him to keep this memory. 

 

There's an air of desperation of course, as there always is. These moments... they're borrowed. 

 

When he opens his eyes again Farrier is staring with a quirk on his lips. It's not that they'd ever defined it, because past a certain age, particularly during times of chaos, you stop wasting time trying to define things. You rest safe in the knowledge of what is. You love in silence.  

 

Farrier takes his hand back and the heat from the subtle touch quickly dissipates as though it never happened. 

 

"Blue skies today." Farrier says it with such nonchalance. Collins suddenly feels they are miles apart, the breathless gap between them fraught with veiled desire to scream out...  _Don't be a bloody hero. Stay alive. Come back to me..._

 

With a curt nod to his head and very little fanfare, Farrier putters off towards the tarmac. 

 

Yes, Collins thinks to himself. It would be like any other day. 

 

 

 

Until it wasn't. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collection of moments.

_After_

 

It was on particularly gorgeous days like this that she would find him staring off into the distance. 

 

Where did he go, she often wondered. His mind now shuttered by the ravages of living through days that he never imagined he deserved in the first place. 

 

"Ian?" She grazes his good shoulder lightly. With no sign of response she moves to stand in front of him and musters a smile, "You ignoring me then, Ian Collins?" But her confidence falters.The rivulets of charred skin marring the right side of his beautiful face is still a shock to the system. His milky right eye an added visceral reminder of what she can barely recognize. 

 

"Right then. Shall we get you some fresh air?" Bundling him up in worn wool blankets, Nora carefully pushes his wheelchair out of their humble home into the back field. 

 

The cold sends shivers down her spine, but the sight is glorious. The snow had settled overnight and it gleaned beneath the sun. 

 

In retrospect, Nora was thankful that dreary days in England outnumbered the beautiful ones. 

 

Blue skies be damned to hell. 

 

On dreary days she could at least count on Ian to transform into some hollow semblance of the man he once was. But days like this-- cloudless days in which blue rolls into infinity... he falls into a catatonic stupor. 

 

Always staring. 

 

Staring longingly straight through her. 

 

The silence is deafening at times. 

 

She never stops to ask what he's waiting for. She knows the answer will only make things worse. Sometimes it's better not knowing. 


	3. Chapter 3

 

_Before_

 

 

"You bastard!" Collins wrenches himself from Farrier's tight grip and punches him square in the face. 

 

His lips are still searing from the chaste kiss Farrier had landed. 

 

Farrier tumbles backwards to the muddy ground with a loud thud. Collins is heaving, his face bright red, he had never been kissed by another man before. 

 

With an exasperated laugh Farrier wipes his bloodied mouth with the back of his hand and proceeds to pull a carton of cigarettes from the front pocket of his coat. 

 

"It was worth a shot." Farrier pops a lone cigarette to his pursed lips and lights it. Dragging himself up to his feet with a grimace. "Quite the right hook you have there, Collins. Suppose I deserved that." 

 

"I'm engaged to be married..." Collins is reaching and wildly grappling for any sort of rationalization to steady the rapid beating of his heart. 

 

Farrier scoffs, "Still living in the past are we?" The smell of nicotine permeates all of his senses as Farrier takes yet another tentative step into Collins' personal space. "Tell me, is it your betrothed you think of when I hear you gripping yourself at night?" 

 

Collins steels himself to the personal interrogation. "It's certainly not you, if that's what you're insinuating." 

 

"Really?" Farrier steps even closer still.  _Punch him again you fool._

 

The heat in the air is palpable. Smoke from the cigarette swirls between them impeding their vision.

 

"Because my cock between your pretty lips is certainly all I think about." Collins suddenly feels as though he's been doused with ice water. He can feel the blush rising in his cheeks again. A yearning has settled in the back of his mind, a yearning that he had refused to acknowledge. The reverberations from Farrier's voice is an assault to his ears.  _So damn close._

 

Collins was shocked and appalled by the obscenity, of course, but his eyes had worked on their own accord. The quick glance he makes down to Farrier's lips is all the ammunition Farrier needs, "Thought so." 


	4. Chapter 4

_After_

 

 

Fury.

 

Blinding fury is all he can feel cutting deep into the marrow of his bones. 

 

He looks across the black abyss of the water, peering into the darkness with strained eyes. The truth is caught in his throat, like a tumor threatening to spread. 

_He's not coming back._  

 

The rush of water seeping into his lungs earlier that day whilst sinking in his own spitfire was nothing compared to this. 

 

_He's not coming back._  

 

How fleeting hope is. 

 

Farrier had left him in this godforsaken war alone. 

 

What little hope Collins had left, Farrier killed the moment he decided to use the rest of his fuel to fly his merry way to Dunkirk. 

 

_The smug bastard._

Did it feel nice, Collins wonders, to give up your own safety for everyone else?

 

_You left me._

"Son?" Collins flinches under Mr. Dawson's gentle touch. "No use standing here all night. Best be on your way now." 

 

_It was never supposed to be like this._

 

Collins turns to Mr. Dawson with wild eyes and forcefully pushes him away, "You should've left me in there." 

 

He heaves and sputters, trying to find the words, "I wish you had just let me..." 

 

But he can't bring himself to finish the thought. Collins seethes at the sight of Mr. Dawson's pitying eyes. 

 

_He's not coming back._

The exhaustion of the day suddenly settles into his body. 

 

Collins takes a final glance across the Channel and hunkers down into his heavy coat. His boots feel as though they've been weighted with lead, every step taking him further and further away from Farrier. 

 

Perhaps one day he would come back and thank old man Mr. Dawson for saving his life, but in this moment, Collins can't help but wish for Mr. Dawson to burn in hell. 

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_After_

 

It was as though a fine pebble had hit him hard.

 

He looks to the outside of his right shoulder where he thinks he felt the initial impact and notices the frayed edges of a new hole in his uniform that had not been there before. 

 

It doesn't take long for his brain to also register the distant sensation of deep burning inside of him. He peers down over his mask and sees red seeping out of his abdomen. 

 

He hears the familiar ping of bullets and immediately banks left on instinct. 

 

_This is it._

 

He steers with his left hand and uses his right to apply what little pressure he can to the more urgent of his two wounds. 

 

Collins finds humor in the situation. At least the adrenaline keeps the pain at bay... almost. 

He had asked for this in a way. Gleefully volunteering for missions, tempting fate with wide open arms. His plane had been shot out of the sky at least seven times before this, perhaps this would be his last. 

 

" _Collins..."_

 

He's not sure if it's the rush of blood or the perfect sky, but he swears the voice ringing in his headset sounds just like Farrier. 

 

"Fortis Leader, get out!" He hears it in the distance, but the roar of the engine overtakes his thoughts and the frantic squabble in his headset is suddenly too much. 

 

With a bloodied hand Collins rips the headpiece off and proceeds to squeeze his eyes shut. He loosens his grip on the throttle and is suddenly met with a wave of relief. 

 

His mind wanders back to Farrier and tries to remember his face. It had been three years since Collins had last seen him. He wracks his brain trying to envision the color of Farrier's eyes.

 

_Did you die rotting in some cell or did you die fighting?_

_When you were dying... did you think of me?_

 

The sweat from his brow slides down into his eyes and forces them open. The scent of smoke and gasoline is overwhelming. 

 

Sheer panic descends upon his mind and he's 23 sinking in Dunkirk all over again. 

 

The pain from the bullet wounds is an afterthought as Collins stares unblinking at his right wing ablaze with fire. 

 

Impulsively he reaches up to his canopy, but he barely manages to pull it open as flames swiftly engulf the cockpit... all he can do is scream.

 

It's true what they say. Seconds feel like minutes when your body understands that it might not make it. 

 

He leans as far left as he can go, raising his arms to shield his face, but he knows it's not enough. He knows it's too late. 

 

The scent of charred fabric morphs into the scent of burning flesh as toxins seep into his lungs with every labored breath. 

 

He screams, and screams, and screams. 

There's nothing left for him to do. 

 

He feels every nerve. He feels every flame. He feels all the agony in the world consume his body. 

 

Until he feels nothing at all. 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

_Before_

 

The first signs of dawn slowly creep through the window, bathing their shitbox of a room with muted blue hues. They'd have to report back to base soon, but neither make a move. Their limbs seamlessly intertwined, the rush and frenzied heat from the previous evening still reverberating through their bodies. 

 

"What's her name?" Farrier asks as he runs his hand down the spine of Collins' bare back. 

 

Collins buries his face just a bit deeper into the nook of Farrier's neck. 

 

"Nora."

 

"And..." It's unlike Farrier to be so curious. 

 

"And... she first proposed to me when we were only 10 years old if you can believe it." Farrier chuckles gruffly and attempts to pull Collins even closer.

 

"Sprightly girl, that one."

 

"Aye." Farrier remains silent as if waiting for some additional explanation. 

 

"I could never say no to her when we were growing up." 

 

"And now?" Farrier's touch is so achingly gentle that it makes Collins heart ache with desire and longing. His warm palm lingers on the small of his back in a way that Collins can only describe as possessive. 

 

Collins lifts his chin to gaze down at Farrier's averted eyes. 

 

His cocksure persona is nowhere in sight and suddenly Farrier seems so much younger now, here naked beneath him. 

 

Collins wonders how many other men and women Farrier had in this very position... 

 

Collins decides it doesn't matter. 

In times when tomorrow doesn't seem likely and the past is too far gone to return to, you choose now. 

 

With a tender sigh, Collins cups Farrier's face in his hands and forces his eyes back to attention. 

 

"I buggered off and joined the RAF, didn't I?" 

 

He leans down and gives the nervous man a reassuring kiss, but Farrier pulls away. 

 

"And what if that's not enough of an answer? What will you tell her?" Farrier has a vice like grip on his hips. Collins can feel his nails dig into his hipbones. 

 

There's a desperate look in Farrier's eyes, like a man who had been stripped of his instinct to want because it never ended in his favor. 

 

The tables had turned. 

 

Collins was no fortune teller. He had been unsure about many things throughout his life. The war was not a call to action as much as it was a selfish chance for him to run away from everything he felt suffocated by. He didn't know how long he'd be around. But he was certain of one thing. 

 

Collins runs his hands into Farrier's mussed, dewy hair and leans in to kiss him again. He attempts to convey everything he doesn't know how to say in this single heated gesture and Farrier finally responds in kind. 

 

They pull apart, lips red and swollen, breathless.

 

Sunlight breaks through the tattered curtains as they cling to each other. 

 

It may not be the answer Farrier wants, but it's all that Collins can offer. 

 

"Let's get through today."

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Before_

 

 

Collins never considered himself a religious man, but these days he prayed anyway. 

 

He clutches a worn silver cross dangling from a fine chain. He rubs the familiar edges and whispers a prayer under his breath. 

 

His mother had passed it down to him after his father had passed. Collins was only eleven at the time and he had carried the pendant ever since. 

 

There's an uproarious cackle of laughter at the other end of the barracks. Collins glances across the way and notes that Farrier is of course in the middle of all the raucous, most likely retelling some tale the young soldiers have all already heard, but still laugh at anyway. 

 

Farrier has a goofy grin on his face, lips pulled back so wide his crooked teeth peak out. 

 

Collins grips the cross even harder as he feels his heart begin to hammer against his chest. He was not one to contend with flights of fancy. Up until now the elusive ideology of love was beyond him. At some point he thinks he may have even convinced himself that what he felt for Nora may have been love, but the line between understanding and knowing is a precarious one. 

 

_If this is a sin, it is a sin I will never confess._

He brings the cross to his mouth for a gentle kiss. 

_Whatever greater power that may exist, please lead him to safety... carry him home._

He hastily coils the thin chain to the cross and walks the small gap between his and Farrier's bunk. He grabs the dress shirt of Farrier's uniform that's strewn across the lumpy mattress and promptly stuffs the pendant into the breast pocket that would lay over Farrier's heart. 

 

"What's this then?" 

 

Collins turns to Farrier who has a warm but curious glint in his eye. Collins buttons the pocket shut and tosses the shirt straight into Farrier's face. 

 

"No more lewd stories. And for God's sake, put a shirt on before you make a man jealous."

 

Farrier pulls the shirt from his head grinning like a cheeky school boy and immediately attempts to dig his pesky fingers into the pocket that Collins has just closed.   

 

_He's insufferable._

 

Collins reaches out to steady Farrier's hands. 

 

Farrier's smile falters as he recognizes Collins' solemn expression. Before anyone else can take notice of his lingering touch Collins shoves his hands into his own pockets. 

 

"When we get back..." 

 

Farrier nods his assent and proceeds to put his shirt on instead. 

 

"Such a tease." Farrier was always the one trying to lighten the mood. 

 

He looks as handsome as ever in full uniform. 

 

"At least Dunkirk is close enough." 

 

"Aye." 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

  _After_

 

She sees a lone figure trudging across the vibrant fields of the countryside from a distance.

 

The fear of truth starts coursing through her veins and she can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. 

 

Subconsciously she knew, call it the instinct of a woman. She knows this is the man Ian has been waiting for. 

 

Nora glances out the window every so often to check in on his progress and it isn't long until she sees him standing just outside her front door. 

 

She observes him fiddle with his coat. He paces to and fro attempting to muster the courage to knock. It's hard to see his face from her vantage point, but he seems rather unremarkable. 

 

_Just walk away. Please._

Nora secretly urges the man to abandon his mission and let things lie. 

 

Seconds turns to minutes as she watches him simply lay a resting hand on her mangled wooden door. He takes his time. Until...

 

The sound of several self assured knocks echo throughout the house filling the empty void. 

 

She curses her luck and readies herself... for what exactly, she's still unsure. 

 

The knock comes again and Nora feigns a confident stride to the door and takes a breath. 

 

She opens it, slowly, and eyes the man standing just on the other side. 

 

He's tall and broad shouldered. He looks anxious and worse for wear, bedraggled the same way most men look when returning from battle. Despite his emaciated appearance and ill fitting clothing, Nora thinks he may have made for a dashing man long ago. 

 

His hair is sheered close to the scalp and she can see a puckered scar running from his hairline down to the outer corner of his left eye. His skin is pale and his cheeks are hollow. His blue green eyes are prominent above the deep set dark circles surrounding them. He's expressionless, and for a moment all either of them can do is stare. 

 

He clears his throat then.

 

"Evening ma'am." His baritone voice is rough from lack of use.

 

"What can I do you for?" She can hear the shake in her own voice. 

 

_Keep it together._

"I'm looking for someone. People in town told me I might find him here." She has a white knuckle grip on the door handle. She waits for him to say the name. "Ian Collins... Formerly Squadron Leader Ian Collins of the RAF." 

 

There's a distinct stammer in her heart. She hates him almost instantly. She especially hates the way Ian's name gently rolls off this man's tongue. 

 

_He's dead_.  _Don't come back here._  She wants to scream it at the top of her lungs. 

 

"And who are you?" She says it through gritted teeth. Her guise of civility wearing thin. 

 

"Farrier, Ma'am. William Roderick Farrier. I served alongside Ian for a time... early on." 

 

"Mr. Farrier..." It festers in her mouth. She never once heard Ian actually say the name, but it fits. 

 

"Please, Will is perfectly fine." He gives her a genuine smile and she can feel her resolve start to crack. 

 

Nora leaves the door ajar and makes her way to the kitchen. 

 

She calls out to him, "No use standing outside, William." He helps himself through the door with an apprehensive shuffle, glancing every which way to take in the new environment. 

 

"Cup of tea will do you good. Sit yourself down." She feels him hover as she busies herself with the kettle. Nora knows he's looking. She can sense his eyes raking over every inch of the space for some sign of Ian and it infuriates her. "Sit down." Nora says it again with force. 

 

The tension in the air is sharp, he's no stranger to the feeling. 

 

Farrier doesn't put up a fight. He sits as he's told. 

 

The whirring of the kettle does little to ease her mind. Lying suddenly seems so much easier. She doesn't owe this stranger a thing. 

 

His gaze is weary as she places a hot cup of tea on the table. Nora settles into the seat across him, ever so stiff and tightlipped. She finds it slightly appalling how graceful Farrier is with a hot tin in his hand despite missing two fingers. When he moves to take a sip she can't help but stare at Farrier's full lips and feel self conscious of her own. 

 

She distracts herself with the heat on her fingertips as she clings to her steaming cup. 

 

"Thank you, Nora."  

 

It's barely above a whisper, but she feels as though she's been sucker punched. 

 

The way in which Farrier says her name with such familiarity hits a raw open nerve somewhere inside her. She can feel a lump in her throat as she tries her hardest to resist the tears. 

 

"He spoke of me?" 

 

"Yes, often with much fondness." Farrier sounds honest to her ears, but she balks bitterly. 

 

And that's when she notices the glint of silver around Farrier's neck. She recognizes it immediately. Nora reaches a hesitant hand outward, her body working of its own accord. 

 

Farrier remains as he is, unshrinking, as she grazes the chain and pulls the pendant out from his shirt. Nora sees the cross and violently pulls her hand back as if she's been burnt. 

 

Nora angrily wipes away a tear that has found its way down her cheek. 

 

_Is that guilt in his eyes?_

"It belonged to his father. I never knew Ian to be without it. How did you..." She doesn't finish the question. He averts his gaze from her as if it were a silent confession. 

 

_Answers have never served you, silly girl._

 

Farrier carefully slips the pendant back under his shirt, "I never did find out what it meant to him." 

 

"He kept secrets from you too then." She bites her tongue before she can say anything more clever and watches Farrier shift in his seat. His focus whips back to her. She knows he can see right through her comment. There's fire behind his pupils.

 

"No. Captured by the Germans before I could ask him, I'm afraid."

 

It's a standoff. 

 

She doesn't consider herself a callous woman, but war is insidious that way. 

 

_You used him. Then you_ _abandoned him_. 

 

But the words are difficult to utter due to the blistering truth written all over Farrier's face. She recognizes the look, she's seen it before, in Ian. Both men endured for as long as they have because of each other.

 

That's when they both hear it. What starts as a faint whimper in the distance, quickly flourishes to the shrill cry of a baby. 

 

Nora watches Farrier slowly crumble under the weight of the sound, as confident as he seemed a moment ago, he now looks as though he's been hit by a freight train. He glances down the hall and back to her several times. She remains silent as she witnesses a hundred different emotions run through him, piecing information together like a puzzle.

 

Nora revels in watching him make the connections, if only for a moment. 

 

"I'm sorry..." He stands abruptly. "I'm sorry to have disturbed all of you." Farrier turns away from her as if ashamed to have ever bothered showing up at all. "I'll see myself out." 

 

What remains of Farrier's sanity is in her hands. He's survived much, but it would be simple for her to push him off the final ledge-- to break him. 

 

To kill the only tangible connection that has him moored to the land of the living.

 

"Won't you stay, Mr. Farrier? It'll only be a moment." He's visibly shaken, but she can't give him the relief of running away. She won't. Not yet. 

 

With steady steps, Nora makes her way down the hall to the bedroom. Farrier's momentary indecision has him paralyzed. 

 

Nora approaches the crib and gathers her restless baby into her arms. She shushes the tiny wonder and rocks her gently as the cries ebb away. 

 

She can feel the creak of the floorboards from beyond the confines of her room. His footsteps are heavy. Farrier is leaving. 

 

After all these years, she can no longer refuse the truth. She's not the type to easily admit defeat. She can fight alongside the best of them.

 

But Ian doesn't belong to her, he never did.

 

Nora runs out of the room and sees Farrier halfway out the door. 

 

"William!" He freezes, his shoulders heaving with the wind. 

 

_This is goodbye._

 

"Her name is Charlotte... She's not his." He's stock still. She approaches him carefully, as he turns to face her. "Please, come back inside." 

 

"Collins..."  His eyes, they're bloodshot with unshed misery and they beg her to restore his faith. 

 

"Alive, but not here. Let me tell you where you can find him. Please."  _Let it be done._  Nora grabs a hold of Farrier's bony callused hand and the dam soon breaks, he gives into the tears drowning him from the inside.

 

Farrier heaves loudly and immediately intertwines his fingers with hers. Silent sobs wrack his body as he clutches her hand like a lifeline. 

 

She holds her daughter and Farrier with equal care, ushering them back into the warmth of the kitchen. 

 

_Let it be an end._

Nora senses this will be the first and last time she will ever see William Roderick Farrier. So she grips his palm with adoration knowing that it will soon find its way home to the man she once loved long ago. 

 

"There were days he'd shut me out so hard I could barely recognize him. I didn't know how to help. He's not who he was."

 

Farrier's tears subside and he speaks in calm a voice he can muster, "Neither am I." 

 

An intimate understanding passes between them. 

 

The war had come and gone and yet still they move. 

 

Whatever burden that would transpire with Ian Collins, it was no longer hers to bear. She would salvage a life, perhaps not the one she imagined herself having, but a life nonetheless. She had Charlotte and her husband Richard who would be on his way home by now. 

 

And all at once, relief. 

 

Nora supplies Farrier with a portion of food and a handwritten address Ian had left behind. She's unsure now whether it was ever really meant for her or if Ian had known all along that Farrier would find his way here. 

 

"Mr. Farrier..." She lingers on this final moment, digging for the courage to say goodbye. 

 

It's an unexpected welcome when Farrier's warm embrace engulfs her. She buries her face into his frail chest and holds him close. She can feel the edges of Ian's cross upon her cheek and she allows herself to melt into Farrier the way she thinks Ian would.  

 

Minutes pass when Farrier's lips gently brush her ear, "I'm grateful he had you, Nora."

 

With nothing left to say, he pulls away from her.

 

A curt nod is all he offers as he walks out of her life as surreptitiously as he came into it. 

 

She stands by her window watching Farrier till he is nothing more than a spec on the horizon. 

 

Nora has no time for jealousy or embellished futures. She has her own life to tend to now. 


	9. Chapter 9

_After_

 

He was back in his corner again. Drink in hand, hovering on the outskirts of liveliness in the dim shadows of the only pub in town he found tolerable. O'Sullivan never questioned his presence, Collins could always trust that as soon as he was done with one pint, that another would magically appear. Here Collins could drink till his bones stopped aching. Till he could no longer remember what it was like to be a survivor. 

 

He is a living revenant. Eyes fall upon him, looking and not looking all at the same time. Furtive glances and mumbled thanks have all become commonplace. Collins pulls his flat cap lower in attempts to hide his wretched face. The memory of his old persona is as faded as Farrier's existence. When they stormed London together, Collins was unstoppable. Farrier had made him into a confident man--  a man worth speaking to, looking at, and loving. "Pity I have you all to myself," Farrier would always say.

 

The pub is teaming with loud Allied soldiers. Drunken exchanges of near death experiences grate upon his nerves. Collins squashes all thoughts of the past as he throws his head back for the final gulp of his tepid ale. He returns the mug to O'Sullivan when he passes him another.

 

"I'm done for the night." Collins tries to explain, but O'Sullivan just shakes his head. 

 

"From the gent across the way." O'Sullivan cocks his head right and that's when Collins sees him. 

 

He's young, visibly unmarred by the war. His dark floppy hair and chiseled jaw are so perfectly proportioned it's almost painful to look at in Collins' current state. Like a marble statue, similar to the ones he's seen in Nora's old books on Grecian mythology. The stranger's green eyes settle on him curiously and Collins can feel the heat rise in his cheeks. He instinctively turns his head far right to keep his face hidden, the sudden unwanted attention is overwhelming. 

 

It's been a while since anyone has dedicated a lingering gaze on him. 

 

_Come on old man. Go home._

Collins swallows his embarrassment and looks back across the bar only to realize the beautiful stranger is now gone.  _Of Course_.

 

"Looking for someone?" There's a northern lilt to the soft spoken voice. 

 

Collins spine goes rigid as his head spins to eye the young soldier standing just behind him. A hand resting on Collins' left shoulder. He's even more magnificent up close. 

 

Collins feels his belly drop and can't help but concentrate on the warmth emanating from the stranger's hand. Collins stays quiet as the stranger grins. The boy has fucking dimples. 

 

"Do you mind?" Before Collins can even muster a reply the soldier settles into the stool next to him. There's barely any room, but he manages to squeeze into Collins' space, leaning his body in towards him till their thighs and upper arms are in direct contact. "You'll finish your pint with me then?" 

 

The soldier is so close he can smell him. A musky hint of tobacco and patchouli. It's utterly masculine and fragrant... just like Farrier. 

 

"I should get going." Collins tries to pull away but he distinctly feels the young man place his hand just above Collins knee, fingers coming to rest upon his inner thigh. 

 

"Don't be daft." 

 

His senses are buzzing and his throat is dry. He tries to swallow. He attempts to rationalize this come on. He thinks this soldier has made a mistake. 

 

"No use letting the money go to waste. Go on then. Have a drink." He gestures to the untouched pint in front of Collins, all the while his dimples still visible. His hand on Collins is steady, safely hidden from prying eyes beneath the bar. 

 

The chaos of the pub seems to fade away. 

 

"Gareth..." 

 

"Collins." 

 

Collins turns to face Gareth fully. 

 

He hopes that by revealing the mangled skin and the faded right eye is enough to scare Gareth off, but there's no indication of disgust or fear. Gareth doesn't seem perturbed in the slightest, not even a second blink. 

 

He gives Collins his full attention. Attention that Collins had not allowed himself to crave since the accident. 

 

"You remind me of someone I once knew." There's a longing in Gareth's voice. Collins wonders if it's a comrade or a fallen lover. "In any case, couldn't allow a hero like you to have a drink by himself."

 

"Hardly a hero." Collins mutters as he busies himself by taking a large swig of his ale. 

 

"I killed someone the other day." The confession is brutal. "Just a boy really. We left his body there... he's probably still there now." His voice wavers and Collins can't help but feel for the man, still innocent enough to feel every life taken. Collins reaches down and grips Gareth's hand. 

 

"There you are!" Suddenly, a larger soldier falls on Gareth's shoulders and puts him in a playful chokehold. "We're heading off. Come on." Collins carefully watches the interaction, still clutching Gareth's hand. He can't bring himself to let it go. 

 

"I've only just gotten my drink. I'll catch up with you lot later." The larger fellow is too drunk to put up a proper fight and rambles away. The disingenuous smile vanishes from Gareth's face as he watches the small unit of men stagger out into the streets. 

 

"Should really get going..." Collins needs to leave the man be, it would be the responsible thing to do. 

 

"I want to go with you." Gareth's eyes brim with unspoken emotion and it's just enough to compel Collins to pull him along through the dark back alleys of London to his tiny depressing excuse of a flat. It's an impersonal space. Not much more than a narrow bed, furnace, and a rickety old chair he had salvaged from rubble. 

 

Collins pulls his flat cap off his head and rests his forehead against the wooden door as he locks it shut. He furrows his brow, his heart beating a little faster. The energy in the small room is palpable. 

 

_What are you doing?_

He feels Gareth's hands slowly slide up the length of his arms to grab a hold of the collar on his coat. Gareth pulls the heavy fabric from Collins' body and tosses it to the side. 

 

Collins is a selfish man, he hasn't the will power to stop him. 

 

Gareth deftly turns the older man in his arms and steps in even closer. The warmth of another body is almost too much for Collins to bear. His breath hitches when Gareth runs his hands over Collins' face. 

 

There is no hesitance in the touch as Gareth gently grazes over the scars. Collins can feel the tears start to swell. 

 

Collins attempts to turn away, he finds it humiliating to cry, but Gareth doesn't allow him to evade his touch. Instead, Gareth closes the gap and lays a tentative kiss upon his lips. 

 

He wants to drown in the heat, his parched lips seek Gareth's lips again as if he were a man taking his first sip of water following an endless drought. Collins is thankful that Gareth tastes nothing like Farrier. He's too tall, his skin too smooth... but he's alive, vibrant, and that's enough.  

 

A rush of blood spills into his body as Gareth's mouth trails down his neck.

 

His labored gasps overtake the silence as Gareth's hands make their way across the small of his back beneath his shirt. He tries to push Gareth away, he's only ever been poked and prodded by doctors when fully unclothed. He knows what's underneath, like a horrid science experiment nearly gone wrong. There's a reason why he no longer owns a mirror. He doesn't want Gareth to see him the way he sees himself. 

 

"It's all right. You're safe with me." Gareth whispers it into his ear with conviction. 

 

Collins wants to believe the sentiment so badly. 

 

As if completely in tune with Collins, Gareth steps away and makes himself vulnerable first. Collins watches him slowly peel back the layers of clothing till he's in a state of undress. 

 

Collins sweeps his eyes across the hard lines of muscle and the gentle slope of his bare shoulders all the way down... 

 

Collins can feel another blush rising in his cheeks as he relishes the simple act of staring. 

 

Gareth reaches out to him again and pulls Collins towards the bed. They fall into the lumpy mattress with swollen lips and greedy hands. Desperately grasping at one another. 

 

Collins had thought his nerves were all but dead, but he can feel warmth spread over the extensive scar tissue along his right arm, torso, down his leg in a way he had not known was possible. 

 

He gives into the silent tears that stream down his cheeks. He's raw and Gareth's thoughtful caresses overwhelm him into guttural groans unfamiliar to his own ears. 

 

"Darling..." It's Farrier's voice he hears when Gareth finally swallows him whole. 

 

Collins panics at the sound and wrenches his eyes open in the midst of passion. He looks down between his legs and strokes Gareth's dark curls as he rocks his hips up to hit the back of Gareth's throat. 

 

"William..." The name slips from Collins' lips by mistake as his mind starts to wander into the past. 

 

He remembers their first time and their last time. 

 

His skin slick with sweat.

 

"No..." 

 

He remembers Farrier's plane gliding over Dunkirk. 

 

He arches his spine.

 

"Please..."

 

He remembers all their stolen moments. 

 

He cranes his neck back with acute pleasure. 

 

"Stop.... please..."

 

He remembers their implicit promise. 

 

He's guilty. 

 

"Stop!" He roughly tugs at Gareth's hair with force and sputters incoherent apologies in between blubbering gasps. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He crawls away from Gareth's grasp and curls into himself. "I'm sorry... I..."

 

The memories pummel Collins like bullets and he feels sick to his stomach. In his heart he knows Farrier would berate him for clinging to a ghost. He knows Farrier would want him to find a way forward, but he doesn't deserve it. He can't find the will to do so. 

 

_I miss you so terribly._

_It hurts to wake up._

The mattress shifts beneath him and Collins braces himself for the inevitable slam of the door- Gareth would leave. Another rejection. The roar of spitfires ring through his ears. Varying scenarios of Farrier's death and Farrier's survival run on a loop, but in each one he's out of reach and Collins isn't strong enough to get to him. 

 

"I'm sorry..." He whispers it over and over again. He was once filled with anger, but here, in this bed, in this shit room, curled up into a naked drunk ball with a man who isn't Farrier... all that remains is regret. 

 

A gentle brush of a hand down the burnt side of his body pulls him back to reality. 

"It's okay." 

 

He breathes heavily and another wave of incoherent sobs wrack through his body. 

_"_ You're all right. Come here." Gareth sidles up behind Collins. 

 

_Get a damn grip._

 

Gareth is delicate as he pulls Collins close, wrapping his body around the older man till their flesh touch. 

 

Collins doesn't remember the last time anyone has held him like this. How strange it is to find comfort in the arms of a stranger. 

 

He turns to face Gareth. In the moonlight he appears even more ethereal. There isn't an ounce of disappointment or judgment on his face. If it was any other time- Collins thinks he could've fallen in love with him. 

 

And just when he thought kindness amongst men was no longer a possibility. 

"You're okay..." Gareth smiles quietly, wiping away Collins' errant tears and hugging him close. 

 

Collins finds himself burrowing deep into the embrace. They lay like this for hours. Their naked bodies intertwined because they need it, and it's nice to be needed now and again. Gareth softly caresses his spine- up and down and up again. The ebb and flow make his eyes eventually droop. 

 

When Collins wakes in the morning he is tucked under his sheer covers. He blinks the sleep from his eyes and takes notice of his clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed. He feels well rested for the first time since his return. The first slumber he's had untainted by the images of war. 

 

There's no sign of Gareth. No remanent of the previous night. He's alone. 

 

Collins wonders where Gareth is heading to and where he called home. He wonders who Gareth thought of when he held Collins the night before and why Gareth didn't wake him to say goodbye. He can still smell him on his sheets and his pillow. Tobacco and patchouli, just like Farrier. 

 

"Thank you." He says it out loud to the four walls of his empty room. Collins finds it in himself to get up. 

 

_Godspeed._

 


	10. Chapter 10

_After_

 

"What do you think?"

There isn't a single cloud in the sky today. The expanse is seemingly endless from where he stands chained to the ground. His yearning to fly far away gets the best of him on days such as these.

"Did you hear me?" Nora is nattering about again. Her insistence upon maintaining some semblance of happiness while hundreds died everyday was on the best of days inspirational and on the worst of days aggravating.

Collins secretly hopes that if he continues to stare out the window, unblinking, that she'll give up on him. That she'll finally leave him alone. But Nora has always been resilient in this way-- she lived by sheer force of will.

"I think some flowers will do Mrs. Tansley just right." She waits briefly as if expecting some sort of response from Collins.

That's when the guilt descends upon his mind. He doesn't respond because he doesn't know how to be the dutiful man she's built up in her head.

In the beginning, she was full of questions. Collins appreciated her attempts to reach him. There were so many things he wanted to tell her as he once did back when they were children... back when the world was less complicated.

Now words simply died in his throat, sated by the assumption that she would never understand. Farrier was his and his alone.

Collins continues to stare out towards the sky, knowingly chipping away at the vibrant woman, after all that she's done for him.

Nora had found him at the hospital following the accident. She had clung to his bedside. She had attempted to fill every inch of the ward with her presence believing that it would make him feel better. The other patients kept telling him how lucky he was.

It's unfair, really. That despite everything, he'd willingly exchange his future and all his years with Nora, for the brief months he had with Farrier on his wing.

"What kind do you think she'll like?"

_So incredibly unfair._

The silence is unbearable, even to his own ears.

"What does it matter. The flowers won't bring her boy back."

"I think some daisies would be nice." Of course she ignores his real comment. None of it was real. He had no idea what possessed her to stay, but he was never one for charades. That part of him disappeared the moment he knowingly killed a man and did nothing to save him.

"This didn't happen to us, Nora." She's still not looking at him. "It happened to me... Do you understand?" Collins can't stand the sight of her. As if ignoring his outburst would make things better.

"Ian...darling."

"Don't be so patronizing." He's seething. Collins attempts to stand before her, but Nora veers to his left, her eyes downcast.

"Look at me Nora." He watches her fiddle with a tea set. "Did you hear what I said... look at me!" The helplessness consumes him as Nora continues to feign business.

"Look at you," he laughs harshly, "you can barely stand the sight of me." He edges closer to her, carefully observing the rise and fall of her tight shoulders. "Ever since I came back, you've only ever looked away when I've turned to you. Did you know that? Am I so unrecognizable to you, Nora? Am I that monstrous?" He's at full volume. He doesn't know how to contain his rage.

"For Christ's sake, Nora!" He grabs the nearest plate and throws it against the wall closest to her head. As the plate shatters, Nora finally flinches and turns to look at him straight in the eyes.

"Why've you even bothered lass?" He towers over her as she cranes her neck with dark, furrowed brows.

"Why do you think?" She holds her stance with grace, but her eyes are glassy and full of truth.

He's always known why.

_So unfair._

A tear trails down her cheek and it dawns on him that he's never once seen Nora cry. Collins wishes more than anything, in this instance, that he had finished drowning in Dunkirk. He wishes that he had listened to Farrier then and had told her, once and for all...

Collins is careful to wipe the tear from her cheek using his unmarked left hand. As he gently cradles her head, her eyes close to him once more as tears continue to trickle down his palm.

He pulls her to his chest then as her arms wrap around his waist. He tucks her head just beneath his chin, as they once did, _before_. Nora shudders into him, gripping his shirt. The warmth of her breath upon his skin reminds him that there's still room in his heart to act with love.

"Nora, it happened to me... It doesn't have to happen to you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!


	11. Chapter 11

_After_

Surely it was a mere apparition before him. So desperate had Collins become over the years that perhaps his eyes were now deceiving him. He had seen many fine soldiers go mad with hallucinations.

Surely… this was his own sanity leaving him at last.

Collins clenches his eyes shut.  _It cannot be_.

A sudden prayer lingered upon his lips. It was a prayer wrought with inconsistencies, opposition, and anger. He hadn’t thought of God in a while. At least not since the day he woke up in a wretched hospital bed smelling of burnt flesh and sickness. He had spent the long empty hours praying for mercy and a quick death. Collins had hoped that God would relieve him of the pain and yet... with each excruciating surgery he survived, he felt he'd been utterly forsaken. 

Forsaken by God. Forsaken by his country. Forsaken by Farrier. 

His eyes fluttered open and yet the ghost did not fade.

His vision may have turned to shit, but even through the throng of strangers milling about the busy streets of London, he recognized the man immediately. It was Farrier. 

No matter the years and distance between them... Collins would know him, always. 

Somewhere etched within the trappings of time, Collins had become accustomed to the sensation of loneliness. What was familiar was comfortable, and comfortable was all he had strength for, even if it meant being alone...  _alone_ , it would be better than this unfathomable reality assaulting him. 

Collins had certainly dreamt of a moment similar to this, but he never wanted it to come to fruition, not in his current state. 

Fear courses through his veins. The fear that he might feel something he had long since forgotten, a feeling he had willfully banished from his memory. His pulse thrums beneath his near translucent skin as he observes Farrier for as long as he can. 

Farrier raises his fist to knock on the door leading to Collins' lousy basement flat. The frustration is palpable-- Collins can see it in the stiff ridges of Farrier's jutting spine. 

Farrier slams his hand against the rotting wood with force again, his movements more frenzied than they were before. 

Collins tries his best to track Farrier's motions, his left eye straining to remain unblinking. He feels breathless, crushed by the weight of the fleeting joyous moments they once shared, but could no longer grasp. What a wonder it would be to simply call out his name...  _Farrier._

Farrier's hand suddenly stills mid-knock, frozen by some unseen force. 

Collins can feel it too. 

_You always knew when I was around._

Just as Farrier turns to face the crowded street, Collins steps back into the shadow of a low hanging canopy. He continues to shuffle back towards a side alley with every step Farrier takes forward. 

Collins watches Farrier scan the crowd with desperate eyes. 

_I could hardly recall your face._ He truly is beautiful, Collins thinks. Even now. 

Collins can feel his breath stutter as his emotions batter at his collected demeanor. The nostalgic part of him claws at the surface willing his feet to run towards familiar arms, but nostalgia's familiarity is not comfortable. It is insidious. It is a lie. 

Perhaps there was a God, but he knew better. 

Farrier paces back and forth in a manic state, glancing at every man within his sight in hopes to find--  _him._

Collins watches for as long as he dares and turns to walk down the alley alone. 

Alone. Comfortable and familiar.

 


End file.
